


There and Back Again

by swooning



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swooning/pseuds/swooning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zarek is a more useful Vice President than anybody suspects. </p><p>Set in the same universe as "Underground," but you don't need to have read that to read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had been, for a few brief, shining hours, the Colonial President.   
  
In truth, they had been more brief than shining, by far. By  _far_. But it had happened. It was a part of history. Which was some consolation, given that it was now  _only_  history. He had received no thanks, and had really expected none, from the current president, for the work he had accomplished during his brief term. The work he had spared her, although she had not seemed to see it quite that way.   
  
But still, a promise was a promise. Laura Roslin did not always keep her promises, in fact she was one of the ablest liars Zarek had ever met, but in this instance she had honored their agreement. He had resumed the office of Vice President upon her second inauguration, and he was beginning to learn the difference between serving under Gaius Baltar and serving under Laura.   
  
Baltar had made his life hell through apathy, cruelty, and the sloth that decadence had imbued that President with during the time on New Caprica, that time before the Cylons found their hiding place. Baltar had made his life hell, all unawares, and then the Cylons had done it deliberately, and he almost didn’t know whether he preferred the former or the latter. With the Cylons, at least he did not suffer the frustration of knowing that, no matter how hard he worked, his initiatives would fall apart, fall by the wayside, be cast aside as too difficult or too controversial for the President to bother implementing. The Cylons came to his cell, tortured him there or elsewhere, provided just enough sustenance to keep him alive, and then left him the hell alone. All in all, he could think of worse arrangements.  
  
But Laura… Laura was doing it on purpose, which was clearly the worst arrangement of all. Sidelining him, giving him assignments to visit this or that representative of this or that minor faction, asking him to produce a report comparing potential water distribution schemes. He no sooner docked his shuttle than she sent him away from Colonial One again, on some other fool's errand of her own devious invention, keeping him – above all else – away from  _her_.   
  
And that,  _that_  was the problem, as Zarek saw it. From their time in the mine on New Caprica, from the one time her guard had fallen, and she had given herself to him for two insanely glorious nights, he knew how to work his way back into her good graces. And so, he suspected, did she know this. Keeping him at arms’ length had less to do with her need to have a vice president serving like a low-level flunky, and so much more to do with her need to keep him out of her sight. Out of her mind, and certainly out of her bed.   
  
That bed… Baltar’s legacy. It was going to have to go soon, of course; it took up far too much of the available space in the already cramped “Presidential Suite” on Colonial One. As did the massive desk, already slated for removal within the next few days – as soon as a smaller replacement could be brought in. But in the meantime, at least Laura was getting a good night’s sleep every so often. He assumed she had turned the mattress first, of course.   
  
He wanted her, and more specifically wanted her in that bed, had been craving the sight of her naked body spread in abandon beneath him there, creamy skin scarcely less pale than the white linen of the sheets… and then her hair, fanning beneath her head like autumn, framing her face. That small outcropping of darker curls, pointing the way like an arrow to the juncture of her slim thighs. Deep auburn lashes against a flushed cheek, rose-and-russet nipples surrounded by the softest milk-white skin imaginable. A study in contrasts. Zarek smiled to himself at the thought, shifting in his seat on the Raptor serving as his shuttle, stretching his legs out languorously before him.   
  
And when he had her there, before he made love to her again and again until her voice grew hoarse from crying out in pleasure, he would  _talk_ , and she would listen, and be his again. The sex was incidental. If he could gain her ear, he could gain her mind, and her body would follow, and she knew it, and had thus far prevented it. But not this night.   
  
Zarek leaned forward to look through the narrow hatch, past the pilot and out at the stars. Night. It was always night, here in the stars. But it would be ships’ night now on Colonial One, as it was across the fleet. This trip, back from a tedious reception on a cargo ship that had been converted to a giant spacefaring dormitory, had a late-night, after-the-party feel to it. The pilot and navigator spoke softly, the answering voice on the comm. from Colonial One sounded somnolent, and Zarek found the deck all but deserted when he finally alit and made his way to the cabins where Laura was probably now staying up later than she should.   
  
He worried. He did, and he told himself – master of rationalization that he was – that he cared because his political and perhaps his literal life depended on Laura Roslin. Those things may have been true,  _were_  in fact true. But they were not why he worried that she slept too little, or took too little care to eat well. Zarek knew that although he was a heartbeat away from the Presidency, Adama would have him ousted or eliminated if anything were ever to happen to Laura. He was understandably eager to see her remain in good health. But he actually cared because he cared, because his vision of the world was as romantic as it was violent, because he was a man who believed in passion, and who had discovered what lay hidden beneath the President’s icy exterior.   
  
Even Tory had retired for the evening by the time Zarek entered Laura’s office. Driven, ruthless Tory, who had once made an ill-advised attempt to seduce Zarek for information during Baltar’s tenure. He had laughed aloud, once he realized her goal, and suggested she return to her girlfriend (her deep blush and deeper glare proved his instinct was correct). He also told her she was smart not to have tried Baltar, who would almost certainly have accepted her but would have shared even less information than Zarek, because he knew less about the workings of his own government.   
  
“And I think you probably already know Gaeta’s a dead end,” he added as Tory whipped her angry way out of his tent. So angry, so ruthless. He liked that girl, quite a bit. When the time had come to gather the facts he needed, to assemble his tribunal, he had known who to turn to for information. And she had come through.   
  
He had kept her secret, afterward, never letting on that she was his primary source of the intelligence that led to those few executions the secret jury had accomplished. He left her in Laura’s high esteem, and left her feeling guilty, which was something he had found useful so often throughout the years. And tonight he had drawn on that guilt just a bit, suggesting Tory neglect to relay that he was returning unscheduled to Colonial One, suggesting he would appreciate finding the President alone in her office once he got there. And she had come through again.   
  
Laura, alone at her desk, looked small behind the expanse of wood, looked quite unlike a person on whom the human race’s very existence depended. She was wearing her pink shirt, not his favorite.   
  
He opened with, “You look tired,” although it wasn’t really what he’d intended to say.   
  
Predictably, the President nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected sound, and her startled eyes looked huge, vulnerable, behind her glasses. Only for a moment, however, before they merely looked annoyed, and then looked away. Back down to the paperwork in front of her.  
  
“What are you doing here, Tom?” It was a dismissal, although he had no intention of going.   
  
“Reporting back to my boss. Isn’t that what any good second-in-command does?” When she made no answer, he pressed on. “The reception was everything one might expect. Somehow they managed to replicate that dry, bland, award-dinner chicken. Some things we just can’t leave behind us, I guess. I shook a lot of hands, kissed a few babies. Humanity is safe for another day.”  
  
“Tom, it’s very late. I’d appreciate it if you would just cut to the chase.” She was still playing with the paperwork, feigning interest in it.   
  
“You look tired,” he repeated, sitting down in the chair opposite her desk, leaning down a little and trying to catch her eye.   
  
“I  _am_  tired,” Laura replied irritably, looking down still, but stopping her pretense of looking at work. Giving up after a moment, she met his eyes, but with the shuttered expression he had seen so rarely on New Caprica.   
  
“You should try giving your second-in-command some actual work to do. Might take some of the load off.”  
  
She stared at him for a few more seconds, blankly, until it became clear he was not going to drop his gaze. Then, a hint of a sigh, a quirk of the lips, faint and distant signals of resignation.   
  
“My second-in-command serves in a primarily ornamental capacity,” she quipped, to his surprise. “It seems to suit his abilities. Tom, I’m very tired, did you come here to discuss your job description, or was there actually some sort of urgent business?”  
  
 _Urgent,_  he thought. “A little of both,” he said. “I do want to discuss my job. But I also heard the wireless traffic as I was heading home, and since I was on a Raptor, we got what the civilians didn’t hear. Adama was here. I must have just missed him, in fact. So I assume there was something urgent? Although evidently not urgent enough to involve me.” He gave her a wry smile, asking no forgiveness and receiving none. He had accepted his figurehead status long before she had put it into so many words.   
  
“Yes, Admiral Adama was here.” She cocked her head at him, thoughtfully. He couldn’t read the expression on her face, but it made him decidedly uneasy. “Tom…what would your reaction be if you heard there were a way to eliminate the Cylons, all of them, once and for all?”  
  
It took a moment for the question to register. “Do you mean… would I be happy about it? Would I want it to happen?” At her nod, he raised his eyebrows. “Does this have to do with the prisoners?”  
  
“Just answer the question,” she ordered softly.   
  
“Yes, of course. Do it. Kill them all.” He was firm, unequivocal.   
  
Laura’s mouth curved into a tender smile. “Yes. That’s what I thought, too. Thank you.”  
  
“Is there someone who  _didn’t_  think that? Adama? Or was it Baby Adama?”  
  
“Captain Apollo thought of the plan itself, actually.”  
  
“Frak. So it does have to do with the prisoners?” Tom rose, suddenly agitated, and paced the narrow width of the cabin a few times as she explained.   
  
“If we get within range of a resurrection ship, execute the Cylon prisoners, and then jump away, they’ll carry this virus to their new bodies and infect the entire Cylon fleet. Within days, perhaps even mere hours, that would be the end of the Cylons.”  
  
Zarek said nothing for quite some time, watching his own feet as he stepped back and forth in the small space, clearly taking time to process this new development. But when the full weight of the implications settled on him, he stopped, looking up slowly.   
  
“ _All_ of them…  _none_  would be immune to the virus?”  
  
She nodded solemnly, waiting for his point.   
  
“Lieutenant Agathon?”  
  
Laura raised her eyebrows coolly, but said nothing. Zarek tried to read her, couldn’t, and suddenly found her entirely frightening, whatever she was thinking. Which almost made him hesitate to ask his next question, almost made him back off… but that was not the sort of man Zarek was. He was the sort who pushed, and struck out blind, and rarely minded antagonizing.   
  
“That seems like a pretty steep price, Laura. Would you feel the same way… if Isis were still alive? Would you even be considering this?”  
  
She was good. If he hadn’t know her so well, been studying her so intently, he might have missed the tightening of her lips, the hint of nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing nearly imperceptibly at his shameless crossing of the line. She did not even ask how he knew, whether he had just guessed; but neither did she try to bluff, and he found he admired her for that. Strangely, he also admired her response, which he had not expected.   
  
“I don’t know… I really don’t. That would be a… a different price…” and then her control slipped a notch, and she struggled to blink back tears. “It’s moot. Thank you for your input, Tom, I’ll take it under consideration. Forgive me if I don’t see you out.” She tried to make an exit, but he moved swiftly, blocked her way as she rose from her chair.   
  
“I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“Don’t do this. I  _cannot_  do this right now.” She had bitten it back, all that emotion, but it glittered behind her eyes. Slowly, Zarek raised his hands to her face and gently tugged her glasses away, folding them with elaborate care and placing them on the corner of her desk, Baltar’s desk. Her eyes, less their shield, looked more tired, but more beautiful. “Please,” she added quietly.   
  
“Laura… you have to decide what you have to decide. But this won’t be the last decision. What is the next one going to do to you? And the one after that?” He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, half-expecting to be shrugged away. Laura just stood, however, neither rejecting nor accepting. Waiting, perhaps, to hear something else from him before continuing. “I  _see_  the toll it’s taking.”  
  
“A one-night stand doesn’t give you ownership rights, Tom, and it doesn’t give you any special insight, either.”   
  
“You’re absolutely right. A one-night stand wouldn’t. But you know I’ve been a fan for a lot longer than that.” His fingertips stroked her shoulders lightly, gripping, but never tightly enough to keep her from pulling away if she tried even a little. “Observing your moods has become sort of a hobby for me. No ownership, but it gives me a  _lot_  of insight.”  
  
Despite herself, she smiled – just the smallest smile, but it was enough. “That’s… really very creepy, Tom.”   
  
“Thanks. I try.”  
  
The smile reached her eyes a fraction of a second before they drifted shut, as the movement of Zarek’s fingers deepened from a caress to a massage. Knots upon knots, tension in palpable strata from skin to bone, betrayed her appearance of fortitude to his touch. “I ought to make you stop.”  
  
“And yet you don’t.” He worked his fingers up her neck, smoothing the taut muscles there, filtering through her hair to reach the tender spot at the base of her skull. The movement tugged her forward, and she placed her hands on his chest automatically, countering the pressure. Sighing a little, in relief, as he found first one, and then another, and then  _another_ knot and massaged it away.  
  
Having spent so many years in prison, having been a  _leader_  of men in prison, Zarek knew more than a little about the psychology of humans under protracted pressure. The odd dichotomy of Laura’s personality, the way she seemed to vacillate between extremes of tenderness and coldhearted pragmatism did not surprise him at all, because he had been there himself. Living under unceasing strain eventually made all of life seem like an all-or-nothing proposition; all decisions had to become black and white, because dealing in endless grays seemed to offer too many choices to consider in the time available. But none of that changed the person you fundamentally  _were_. There came a time, there would always have to come a time, when you faced a private reckoning and either accepted your choices or fell into despair.   
  
For Tom, the only way out of despair had been to learn, through years of trial and countless errors, to make himself deal in the grays again. It was harder – seeing the world in black and white had been his mind’s way of sparing him a little of the strain he was under – but ultimately it was necessary, to avoid crushing remorse and inevitable self-destruction.  
  
Laura, he recognized, was living in a black-and-white world, now. And because he cared, because he needed to keep her around for so many reasons, he was suddenly convinced that his own duty was to draw her back into the land of gray. For which she would probably not thank him, might well even see him dead. But for which she would one day thank him, as it would surely be the saving of her. Perhaps even the saving of her soul, although Zarek was not certain he believed in souls. He was not certain humans  _or_  Cylons had them.  
  
“So… the baby. She was a person, right?”  
  
Laura stiffened, stopped allowing herself to lean into his touch. “Tom – “  
  
“Just bear with me. I’m trying to think this through. Isis was a person, right?”  
  
Reluctantly, painfully, she nodded, and whispered, “Yes.”  
  
It hurt him to hear her, hear in her voice the level of regret. She was heartsick over the loss of the child, and the loss of Maya, although he knew she had shared that grief with no one. “Of course she was,” he responded soothingly. “And she wasn’t just half a person, either, because that wouldn’t make sense.”  
  
“Cylons are  _machines_ -“ she began, but he went on, in the same calming tone.   
  
“But the argument against this is that they’re still thinking, feeling beings, isn’t it? One side says they’re just programmed to think they’re… people, a race, whatever. But the other says, even if it started out as programming, there must be more to it now. Because, just look at them. Look at Isis, or at Lieutenant Agathon. She wasn’t programmed to help us, that’s for damn sure, so where did it come from? Where did she get the impulse to help us?”  
  
Laura tried to pull away, then, but he held her this time, inciting her irritation deliberately. “I have no idea where she got that impulse, and I don’t care. They are  _Cylons,_  Tom. They are _machines_ , and they want us annihilated. If we can turn them off, I’m all for it.”  
  
“Machines can’t  _want_ ,” he said simply.   
  
She stared at him coldly. “What’s your point?”  
  
“If you really thought they were machines, you wouldn’t be saying they  _wanted_  anything, because  _machines can’t want_. Your own language is giving you away.”  
  
“Quibbling over words doesn’t change a thing.”  
  
“It isn’t quibbling. Words mean everything, Laura. It’s… listen, try thinking of it this way. How do you feel about spiders?”  
  
“I find them fascinating,” she said, puzzled.   
  
Tom rolled his eyes. “You would. Okay, something else then. Cockroaches, how do you feel about cockroaches?” Laura’s shudder told him all he needed to know. “Okay, so cockroaches are revolting. They’re mindless, germ-carrying, horrible little  _things_. And they’re probably disease vectors. Right?”  
  
“Right. I’d really prefer not to be talking about cockroaches, Tom.”  
  
“Right. So… do you want to kill them all? If you had the chance, would you do it? Not here on the ship, I know you’d kill them all here, but just out in the universe in general. All the cockroaches, gone tomorrow like  _that_. Would you do it?”  
  
Laura considered this for a moment, sighed, shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose so. The worlds need dung beetles. I just wish they would stay out of our homes…”  
  
“Of course. So… how do you feel about Cylons? Similar, right? They’re revolting to you, you’re horrified by them.”  
  
“But it’s the opposite,” she expanded. “There are individual Cylons who don’t horrify me, but the idea of the Cylons collectively is just… and they aren’t a part of a natural ecosystem. They have no natural function. They’re entirely artificial, and… unnatural.”  
  
“But not Isis?”  
  
He could almost see the possible answers race through her brain: Isis was only a baby, Isis was half-human, Isis was special… she spoke none of them aloud. “Isis is dead,” she said finally, hatefully, as if she blamed him. She did, but not for the child’s death; she hated that he was goading her, deliberately making her remember, forcing her to second-guess. Forcing her into the gray area.   
  
“Yes, she is. And I know the Cylons were responsible for that. Instead of grieving, you want revenge, just like people wanted revenge against the collaborators. Vengeance. And now you have the chance to take it, and you’re justifying it to yourself by saying that it isn’t genocide because they aren’t people.” She was pulling away from him, shaking her head slightly, trying to negate what she knew he was about to say; but he held firm, and for whatever reason, she let him. “But you know, you  _know_  it’s just a rationalization, Laura. Because if Isis was a person, and she  _was_ , then the Cylons are not just machines. Which means that this may or may not be the course to take, but it  _is_  genocide. And deep down, you know that.  _That_  is what you will have to live with, if you make this choice.”  
  
“Damn it, Tom! Damn  _you_. You do  _not_  believe that. You want them eliminated as much as I do, I know you do.  _Why are you doing this_?” She was nearly vibrating with rage, with the suppressed sorrows of the past year and a half.   
  
“What I want or believe isn’t important right now. And I’m doing this because you’re going to have to face this some time, Laura. I’d rather see you face it now, and recover and move on, than have it come back and knock you over some day when you aren’t expecting it. It’s a  _big thing_. You have to let it be a big thing.”  
  
“Do you think I don’t know that?” she spat, tears finally threatening to spill. “How  _dare_  you presume to tell me that?”  
  
He contemplated her for a moment, stared at the single tear that broke free, slipped down her cheek unnoticed by her. “Because nobody else will tell you,” he said at last, simply, almost apologetically. And it was the gentleness that did it, that tipped the balance, set the tears flowing in earnest. She cried silently at first, still trying vainly to restrain herself. But it was too late for restraint, and soon she was sobbing, huge, wracking sobs that seemed to be ripping her apart.  
  
And so he held her, held her together while she cried for the lost baby, for the Cylons she would be choosing to slaughter, for the piece of her soul she would lose in the process. For the piece of humanity that would be lost in the process, as well… that would be lost through her direct order. She thought she had already sacrificed that part of her soul, but she hadn’t yet, and now she would have to.   
  
Because they both knew she would still decide to find the resurrection ship, and to slaughter the prisoners. She would have to face the fleet tomorrow or the next day, and command the executions, and it was vital that nobody read doubt or regret or any alternative into her expression, her words. If she seemed to doubt, they all would, and all hope would be lost – not just about this, but about finding Earth and all the rest of it. She was their prophet, and prophets do not second-guess themselves.   
  
That task, Zarek supposed, was left to the low-level functionaries like himself. Ironic, he thought, that the most useful he had felt in days was here, now, enfolding the Colonial President in his arms while she wept. He did not feel like a Vice President, but he felt useful, and it was more than enough for the moment. 


	2. Chapter 2

He wasn’t really a touchy-feely person. Zarek usually left overt sensitivity to men who needed to resort to that sort of thing in order to maintain their relationships. His own formative liaisons had been maintained through the enforced proximity of prison, an environment that did not tend to foster the habit of tender emotional displays.   
  
After about three minutes of solace and comfort, he found himself surreptitiously checking the time and wondering about how long these little interludes typically lasted. Fortunately for Zarek, Laura wasn’t a woman used to relying on others for emotional support; she began to feel uncomfortable at roughly the same time he did, and pulled herself together with a fortitude that would have impressed Tom if he hadn’t grown accustomed to such behavior from her.   
  
As he watched, she drew herself upright, away from his chest, pressing herself from that support with both hands. Gently but firmly, she pushed, but gave him an awkward little pat as she did so, as close to thanks or apology as she was likely to give. Not that he had expected either, after breaking her down so deliberately, dishing out more and more until it was more than she could possibly be expected to take.   
  
And then, of course, he still wanted to dish out more, take more, hadn’t even touched on the agenda he was actually there to pursue. He was a political animal, but also an extremely horny one. And the bed was still there, and so was she. And vulnerable besides… Zarek was manipulative to the core, and he wasn’t going to let such an opportunity slide without pressing his advantage as far as he possibly could.   
  
Laura knew. And he knew that she knew. He really made no effort to be subtle. But she  _was_ tired, as he himself had pointed out. Tired of fighting inevitable things. So when Zarek made himself inevitable, holding her hands, keeping her from retreating completely, she lowered her already weakened defenses and let him in. Let him kiss her, which he did as if it were their habit, something they did all the time. A familiar kiss, which was presumptuous. She was in no mood to be taken for granted. When he eased back, seemed ready to pull away, she took his lower lip between her teeth, none too gently.   
  
At Zarek’s surprised yelp, Laura released him with a rather cruel little snicker. “You deserved it,” she pointed out.   
  
With a slight shake of his head, he leaned in again, offering something along the lines of a tender seduction. Barely brushing her lips with his, stroking her hair softly… wrong again. This time, she just looked sad when he surfaced, all her sorrow of the past few minutes starting to show again in her eyes. Clutching him, letting just a tiny sliver of her need show through, she spoke again, but quietly this time, without even mean laughter.   
  
“Not slow, Tom. You can’t leave me time to think.”  
  
“I’m your distraction?” He sounded amused, fortunately.   
  
She nodded. “It’s your fault for making me think in the first place. If we’re going to do this, I need you to take my mind off  _everything_  -“  
  
Zarek knew a good offer when he heard one; he didn’t even need her to finish speaking. This time, the charmed third, he kissed her hard, letting his own need drive him, letting her feel that need in his lips, in the swift grasp of his hands on her hips, in his own hardening length pressed firmly against her. He devoured, and she offered herself for consumption. There were no further protests when he stopped this time, stopped just long enough to take her hand and tug her urgently along through the curtain that led to the next cabin.   
  
He stopped her beside the bed and resumed his feverish kissing, all hungry mouth and hands. And Laura gave as much back, running her fingers through his hair to pull him closer, standing on her toes once her shoes were kicked off. She was loosening the knot on his tie, yanking it off, even as he unbuttoned the pink blouse he disliked. His shirt and jacket hit the floor at the same time as Laura’s bra, and then each watched the other as they both dispatched the rest of their clothes efficiently, briskly, with the very act of getting naked becoming a sort of foreplay.   
  
One bedside lamp had been lit when they entered the cabin; the soft light cast a glow that highlighted their bodies, threw huge shadows to the opposite wall. Two shadows, and then one, standing, and then sinking down to the bed together. Zarek pinned her with a kiss that ran from head to toe, his body covering hers inch for inch. He wanted that, wanted to feel merged by more than the sex. But his vision of contrasts nagged at him, distracting him, wanted to be realized. To Laura’s puzzlement, Zarek pushed himself off of her, off the bed, and walked to the wall with a secretive smile.   
  
When he hit the switch and flooded the space with light, Laura protested automatically. “Is that _really_  necessary?”  
  
“Yes… lie down.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”   
  
Zarek stared appraisingly. “Lie back, with your head on the pillow. Yeah, like… that.”  
  
She had complied, with a shrug, and slid back down to recline on the bed, quite willing to enjoy every second of it while she still could. She scarcely minded watching Tom amble about, unselfconsciously nude; nor was she particularly shy about her own body being seen in the light. And without knowing it, she now formed the picture Zarek had been imagining, and then some. He could not have anticipated that the angle of her arms, tossed carelessly up by her head in a half-stretch, would display her breasts to such stunning advantage. Nor had he pictured the slight bend in one knee that exposed her further, adding a glimpse of damply flushed pink to the palette of whites and russets.   
  
“You’re perfect,” he murmured as he rejoined her, perching above her on the bed, admiring her body unabashedly.   
  
“You’re crazy,” she replied, but with an indulgent smile. “Aren’t you planning on -  _oh_ …” This last, sighed out as Tom finally touched her, tracing his fingertips so lightly over the outer curve of each breast, breathing warmly over one nipple and then the other without giving in to the temptation to do more than tease.   
  
“ _Faster,_ ” she reminded him in a whisper that turned into a sigh as he explored further.   
  
“Don’t be so impatient. I plan to keep you distracted for a good long time,” he answered, beginning to demonstrate  _how_. “Hmm. There’s no chance you’d let me  _tie_  you to this bed, is there? I could  _really_  distract you then…”  
  
Her eyes flew open. “No. No chance in hell.”  
  
“It was worth a shot.”  
  
“That’s a curtain, Tom, not a door. It’s one thing for Tory to barge in on the two of us; it’s another thing entirely for her to barge in on  _that_.”  
  
“She would probably be too revolted, either way, to do much more than upchuck and run…”  
  
“Be that as it may.” Her eyes shut again as his hands continued their trek down her body, still with far more deliberation than she would have preferred. And yet… it was clearly having the desired effect. Her mind was now as filled with Tom as she knew her body soon would be. His hands taunted, but promised; her body remembered him just well enough to remind her brain he could deliver on those promises. And then some. And he really hadn’t even started using his mouth yet… She thought of his penchant for biting, shivered gently, and found herself imagining what might occur if she ever  _were_  to let him tie her to the bedposts.   
  
Zarek smiled to hear her moan gently as he grazed the insides of her knees with his tongue and a day’s worth of beard; it sounded a little ragged, more than he could account for, and he sensed that her mind had begun the task of distracting itself – a secondary goal of his, but still one he was happy to accomplish. When he did bite her, gently, assaulting the fleshy muscle at the top of one graceful inner thigh, she cried out and arched toward him. The motion brought his ultimate destination within all too tempting reach, and he succumbed just a little, taking a random swipe with his tongue before lifting his head to contemplate her again.   
  
“Roll over,” he said, halfway between a suggestion and an order.   
  
“Why?” she retorted, justifiably suspicious.   
  
Zarek rolled his eyes, sighed in exasperation. “Gods, woman, must you question  _everything_? You won’t let me tie you up, at least let me order you around a little. It’s the least you can do. You  _did_  take my job, after all.”  
  
Laughing aloud, Laura rolled over, leaning on her elbows and looking back at him with a grin. “Shouldn’t I be the one giving the orders? I am your boss, after all.”  
  
“We’re off the clock. Besides, a little submission will clearly be good for your character.”  
  
She slid down to lie flat, still laughing, the sensation too unfamiliar recently. “How did I get to a point in my life where  _you_  get to lecture me about character?”  
  
“Let’s treat that as a rhetorical question.” Zarek slid up her body again, blanketing her with himself, and began systematically nipping his way from her neck and shoulders slowly downward, keeping her pinned as he moved. Never too hard, never hard enough to leave a mark, always soothing his way afterward with kisses. Laura wondered vaguely if he were merely training her, if his real preference was for something altogether stronger or more aberrant. On the whole, she rather thought not; he seemed to enjoy exactly what he was doing, which was fortunate as she found – to her surprise – that she found it both arousing and strangely relaxing.  
  
“Do you  _always_  do that?” she finally asked, when he was kneeling with her legs trapped between his, his mouth roughly at the level of her waist.   
  
“No. Something about you just makes me want to take a bite, though.” He demonstrated, holding her hips with both hands and nibbling along the crest of one buttock until he reached a likely spot for a larger sample. Slowly, carefully, he drew the creamy flesh between his teeth, and indulged himself in sucking hard enough to pull a tiny noise of protest from Laura. It did leave a mark, deeply red on that field of white, a small flag of conquest he’d planted there.   
  
The pain was negligible, but a distraction. Zarek kissed the spot tenderly, and distracted her from the pain by slipping one hand between her legs. He shifted, slid his knees to the inside of her own, pressing her thighs apart and lying down between them. He didn’t linger long there, however. Only his hand remained, fingertips teasing along her labia, while his mouth continued its torturous path down her leg to the calf.   
  
“Don’t you dare leave a mark there,” she warned him, when he seemed poised to take another serious bite.   
  
“Laura, I would  _never_  leave a mark on one of your legs.” He slid both hands down, to her whimpered protest, and caressed both calves fondly. “For one thing, it would be like despoiling a work of art. And for another, it would be beyond indiscreet. Because most of the men in the fleet, along with a fair number of the women, know your legs better than your face. Somebody would notice instantly.” Both hands were on the move again, up this time in tandem, stroking and massaging every inch on the back of her legs. When he reached the crease at the top of her thighs, Zarek paused, slipping his thumbs down to taunt her, and then pulling away. “Besides,” he mused, “I’m not that insecure. I’m fine just knowing you’re thinking about me every time you plant that gorgeous ass in a chair for the next few days. Nobody else needs to know about it.”  
  
“You are a bad, bad man,” Laura remarked.   
  
“But discreet,” he pointed out. “And charming.”  
  
“Though not modest.”  
  
“True. You really aren’t either, though, I think.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“We can’t do it like this, the angle is all wrong…” Zarek had been sizing up their circumstances, weighing the possibilities. Laura rolled over suddenly and sat up, flicking her hair back over her shoulder impatiently. Without preamble, she crawled into Zarek’s lap, straddling him where he sat cross-legged. “Um… well, that’ll work. Um… mmm…”   
  
She had taken his erection in one hand and was sliding her thumb through the bead of moisture gathered at the tip. Bracing herself on his shoulder, she lifted herself just enough to stroke against him, taking just the head of his cock inside herself, stroking the exposed remainder of his member with teasing fingers. Zarek wasn’t having it; he grabbed her hips and pulled her forcefully closer, a warning glint in his eye. Another thrust, and he was buried fully, but still not completely happy with the arrangement.   
  
“I should have tied you up,” he reiterated with mock annoyance when she tried to pull back, to tease further. He leaned forward, the motion forcing her back until they were both lying down, still joined at the hip, Tom wincing as he disentangled his legs from the awkward change in position. But his discomfort lasted only a moment, and then he let his superior weight work to his advantage again. “You wanted fast, right?”   
  
She had no time to agree or disagree; his lips stole her gasp of surprise and pleasure, even as his hips began to move in swift, harsh thrusts, taking him to her depth with each stroke. Laura was primed, somehow, for this; his sudden show of greediness struck a sympathetic chord in her, and she wrapped her legs around his and bucked into him with a readiness that surprised her more than him. Within moments, it seemed, she was toppling over the edge, climaxing hard, almost silently, her shuddering abandon making her ecstasy more than apparent to her lover.   
  
Zarek followed her, pulled into the aftershocks of her orgasm, and jerked nearly to a stop as he came explosively, with a sharp cry, the intensity almost painful just before he found his release.   
  
By the time he regained his senses, Laura was lying still beneath him, a look of bliss on her still-flushed face. As he watched, she opened her eyes to meet his gaze, and started to say something. But then she caught herself, stopped herself, and kissed him sweetly instead.   
  
He wanted to say it for her, parted his lips to do so, but found his attempt foiled by a tapered fingertip and a silent shake of Laura’s head. She pulled him down for another kiss, pulled him as close as possible, so close he worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe. But not for too long, before she let him roll to one side, let him tug her over to snuggle along his chest, with their lower bodies still entwined. And then, unwise as it no doubt was, they both fell asleep in the Presidential bed, which was historically a place conducive to both sex and dreaming.   
  
This night, however, there were no dreams – at least not that either of them remembered afterward. 


	3. Chapter 3

Zarek woke in an instant, disoriented, making himself remain absolutely still though it ran counter to his startle-reflex instinct. The stronger imperative, to avoid detection, was instantly at the fore of his mind; his ability to obey it was part of what made him human instead of animal. After a second, he remembered, relaxed, raised his head. The lights were out in the cabin, but he ascertained by feel that he was alone in the big bed. As his eyes adjusted, outlines began to show, shadows against the shades.   
  
“You should probably be getting dressed.” Laura’s voice came softly from one side. She was seated next to one of the portholes, looking out into space, her legs tucked up beneath her. To Zarek’s disappointment, she seemed to have donned a heavy bathrobe, unless his eyes deceived him. “It’s still night. If you leave now it will be plausible to say we just worked late. If anyone asks.”  
  
For the moment, Zarek ignored her words, and just watched her, sitting up in the bed and stretching as he did so. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
Laura smiled cryptically, though he couldn’t see it. “Oh… different things. Cockroaches. Raw materials. Souls. The size of the genetic pool. Viruses. Divine ineffability.”  
  
“The usual, then.”  
  
She laughed, a sound of ringing clarity after their half-whispered speech. “More or less.”  
  
“They couldn’t pay me to do your job.”  
  
Even through the darkness, she could  _feel_  his grin. “They didn’t ever really have time to pay you to do my job. Are we even paying you to do  _your_  job? And if so, in what currency? I must be behind the times…”  
  
“I take it out in trade.”  
  
“Nice, Mr. Zarek.”  
  
“I’m glad you think so, Ms. Roslin. Is it  _Doctor_  Roslin?”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“Dr. Roslin, then.” He strained to see her, saw only the same rough outline he had all along. “Laura. Come back to bed.”  
  
“Don’t. We can’t do that.”  
  
“Do… what? We’ve already done whatever that is, haven’t we?”  
  
“Don’t act like you belong in my bed, Tom. Don’t act like it’s something it isn’t. We can’t do that. It’s a luxury we…  _I_  can’t allow myself. You shouldn’t be here at all.”  
  
“Too late.”   
  
She could hear the anger just beneath his even tone, sense that his smile had faded, even without seeing him. When she spoke again, it was more gently, almost conciliatory. “Tom… you do know, don’t you? That what I want is to climb back into bed with you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, to get up in the morning and have breakfast together and… have something normal. Whatever came of it. If either of us were a different person, there would be no question. And I tell you this, knowing that it sounds a little needy and smothering, because none of it changes the fact that we are who we are, and  _we can’t do that_. As much as we might want to.”  
  
He was silent for a long moment, considering, then: “That’s the most demanding blow-off I’ve ever heard.”  
  
She giggled a little, sounding nervous, relieved. “The fact that you make me laugh just makes it harder.”   
  
“Not really…” he said suggestively, “but I can think of a few other things that  _would_  make it harder.”  
  
“Guh! That was  _terrible_.” She was still laughing, of course. “Gods, Tom, you really have to work on your material.”  
  
“Cut me some slack, it’s the middle of the night. Speaking of which, come back to bed.”  
  
She obliged with a sigh, shedding the robe along the way. “We can’t go back to sleep,” she warned needlessly. “You really do need to get out, soon.”  
  
“I have absolutely no intention of falling asleep.”   
  
“And what are your intentions?” She was asking him about more than the sex, more than the night, despite her earlier speech; it was what one asked, or would have asked, at this point in a relationship, had there been a relationship.   
  
“Well… make you regret kicking me out of your bed. Where, by the way, I  _clearly_  belong.” Zarek rolled her beneath him, tugging her hands up over her head and pinning them with his own as he murmured through kisses against her cheek, ear, neck, shoulder. “Find out even more things you like having done to you – “  
  
“So you think you know some already?” She spoke with false bravado; he was doing a few of those things to her even as he responded.  
  
“Yes, I do.” His confidence would have just seemed arrogant in another setting; here, however, it was too justly deserved, and they both knew it. “And in order to test a little theory of mine, I think I’m going to mention a few of them. You let me know.”  
  
“Mm. Do your worst.”  
  
“You like it when I run my tongue very lightly from the tip of your shoulder all the way up your neck to your ear…” He demonstrated, eliciting a shiver from her that spoke louder than words. “In fact,” he whispered, letting his lips brush against her sensitive skin, “you love it when I touch any part of your neck, or any part of your ear, with my tongue. Or my lips. I think you wear your hair down as armor. Protection, because if you wore it up, I could kiss your neck and whisper in your ears any time. If I ever do get to tie you to the bed, I’m making you put your hair up first…”  
  
“That’s one. You said some.” She was displaying admirable control, although she knew she probably wasn’t fooling him; she  _did_  love it when he licked and nibbled her ears and neck.   
  
“More? No problem. Like I said, testing a theory.” Zarek lifted his head, shifted to look into her eyes; they were close enough to see one another just well enough in the darkness.   
  
“What theory is this, anyway?”  
  
“I’ll tell you later… where was I? Oh, more… you like to be teased. You like it when I kiss every part of your breasts  _except_  the nipples, and then just breathe on them, or give them the tiniest licks, until you want to grab my head and make me suck on them.”  
  
She had expected another demonstration, but didn’t get one. He held her pinned, staring her in the face, watching her reaction. Feeling her move beneath him, feeling her breath quicken a little. Her body was rapidly giving her away. He went on mercilessly.   
  
“The first time we frakked, you nearly came from that, I think.” He leaned closer still, trying to see her eyes as he put the first cautious toe into the water. “You nearly came from me sucking on your tits.” Her eyes closed, her lips parted… and she said nothing, bit her bottom lip, and arched closer to him as if by reflex.  _Theory confirmed_. Time to test the water’s depth. “But what you liked even more was when I teased your clit with my tongue the same way, while I was frakking your pussy with my fingers.”  
  
She whimpered and writhed, giving up even the appearance of not being affected.   
  
“More?” he asked innocently.  
  
Her reply was an almost resentful hiss of “ _Yessss…_ ”   
  
“You seemed to enjoy sucking my cock,” he went on with a bright, incongruous cheerfulness. “And I certainly enjoyed watching you do it. If there’s ever a next time, I plan to let you finish the job… would you let me come in your mouth?” A rhetorical question; he kissed her before she could answer, kissed her hard, too turned on himself to show the restraint he would have preferred. Letting his tongue take the place, for the moment, of the portion of his anatomy he had so lately been discussing.   
  
Laura had wrapped her long legs over his rear, and was vainly attempting to force the issue of sex; his grip on her hands, however, was preventing her from scooting lower to achieve her goal.   
  
“But as I suspected,” he gasped when he finally pulled away from the kiss, “what turned you on the most was me telling you what I wanted to do to you.”  
  
“Tom…  _Gods_.”  
  
“I think I could bring the government to a screeching halt any time I wanted, just by whispering in your ear that I wanted you to tell the Quorum to get the hell out, because I was planning to bend you over the conference table, pull up your skirt, yank down your panties and frak you until you didn’t know your name.”  
  
Laura moaned wordlessly, would have thrashed if he hadn’t been holding her so securely.   
  
“Mm. I like that idea… taking you from behind, reaching around you to play with your clit… which you wish I were doing right now, probably.” Zarek’s own voice was nearly as rough as Laura’s sounded, now. “Frak,” he muttered, and released her hands so he could reach down to position himself. She beat him to it, brought him to her soaked entrance, and moaned again when he thrust inside her.   
  
But, once inside, he defied her expectations again by slowing down, kissing her gently.   
  
“Open your eyes,” he whispered, and was entranced when she did, to see something like shyness there. Grateful not to be seeing anger or resentment, he rewarded her with a lopsided, unrepentant grin, and received a hesitant one from her in return. “So beautiful…”  
  
Laura lifted her fingers to his lips, as if she could catch the words from his lips and hold them in her hand. “Tom…”   
  
Whatever she had intended to say, she forgot it as he started to move inside her, slow, deep strokes that took her breath away. She met him, beat for beat, wanting more, wanting exactly this forever, wanting him to stay. Her orgasm approached as slowly as their hips moved, she could feel it coming forever, but she still felt unprepared to receive it when it finally assaulted her with a shuddering, compelling demand for her immediate surrender. Which she ceded, opening herself further, drawing him further in, giving herself over. And over, and over, until his rhythm speeded to its end and he came and came down and joined her, at last, on the far side of the sex, as the bliss receded and left them alone together.   
  
Nothing had changed, of course. He still had to leave, had to pull himself out of the bed, away from her, and put his clothes on wearily. She disappeared for a few moments into the head, emerging in a silky nightdress with a large print of watercolor flowers. While he tied his shoes, Laura pulled the thick robe on again, and tugged her hair free of the collar before tying the belt tightly around her waist.   
  
Zarek glanced up as he finished and saw her hair against the pale terrycloth, an echo of his earlier vision of that hair against the sheets. Standing, he caught up one wavy lock in his fingers and stroked it as he looked at her face. She looked serene, blank, again; only because he had seen her without this mask, could he see behind it now. Just a little. Or perhaps he just imagined, wished, that he saw a hint of regret there, a little longing that had yet to be satisfied.   
  
Either way, it would have to keep.   
  
They did not say goodnight. They did not schedule their next clandestine meeting. They did not state the obvious, that there  _would_  be another such meeting. Nor did either of them say aloud that Zarek owned a tiny piece of Laura now, because it was not the sort of thing that needed saying. She had already gained ownership of a little of Zarek’s soul; now, they were even.   
  
There was just a final kiss, sweet, a little sad. And then he was gone, through the curtain, and Laura took off her robe and slipped between the sheets. Her last thought before falling asleep for the second time that night was that she really didn’t mind having the big Presidential bed all to herself. 


End file.
